Evans the Mudblood
by hrhrionastar
Summary: Potter and the Mudblood?" sneer the Slytherins, but you've trained yourself not to wince. 7 parts: Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black, All of Slytherin House, Severus Snape, Regulus Black, Arabella Figg and Voldemort. Complete.
1. Lucius Malfoy

_Lucius Malfoy_

The first person ever to call you a Mudblood is Lucius Malfoy. You don't know his name, of course; later, when you learn it, you will marvel at the irony: _this_ boy is a prefect.

It happens when you're eleven, buying your school supplies and gazing in fascination all around you. This is a new world, one you've been privileged to enter. Stern, no-nonsense Professor McGonagall shepherds your parents through the bar they can't see and then a brick wall turns into an archway and you can't help but think of _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_. Your older sister follows, scuffing her shoes and trying not to look interested. You still don't understand why she didn't get a letter too; you've always done strange things, and Sev has explained that's because you're a witch—but Tuney doesn't seem ordinary, or 'Muggle' at all to you. Your parents do, just the tiniest bit, and this makes you feel guilty.

You've never been particularly greedy, and you long to share your magic adventure with Petunia. But you can't help your amazement—this is Diagon Alley, this is magic, and it's _yours._ You can't believe this is really happening.

Your parents, wide-eyed, exchange money for fat gold coins and silver pieces and little bits of bronze like particularly expensive pennies, and then they buy you a cauldron, smelly potions ingredients, and a magic wand. _A magic wand_!

You're thrilled with Mister Ollivander, even though he looks down his nose at you and jumps when Professor McGonagall follows you into the shop and looks over her glasses at him ominously. Tuney kicks stones outside, and you wonder if they're magic stones, or if this new world has rocks just like anywhere else.

You wave a few wands about, and just when you're getting into the spirit of the thing, and you've managed to avoid breaking anything else that looks too valuable (your first few tries were shockingly destructive), Mister Ollivander hands you another one, and you _know_, just like that. Your lips form an 'Oh!' of surprise and wonder, because this feels right. You wave it gently, and beautiful green sparks shoot out. They look like flowery fireworks to your inexperienced eyes.

"Yes, willow, ten and a quarter inches, swishy. Nice wand for charm work," says Mister Ollivander, smiling indulgently.

"Thanks so much," you say, beaming.

You leave the shop, and Professor McGonagall takes you and your family to the bookshop. Your eyes open wide, because already you love to read, and you're picturing Sev's face if he could see these—you wish he could have come, but his mother is taking him next week, when she has a day off from her work at the hospital, where she does some sort of reception or cleaning work, you're not exactly sure which.

At some point, while you're looking for _Transfiguration for Beginners _(even the names of the books are fascinating), you get separated from your family and Professor McGonagall. You aren't too upset, at first, and you're quite determined to find the book—after all, you aren't supposed to wander off by yourself normally, but surely this is different. Already you're beginning to feel proprietary about magic, like it was invented just for you.

The boy is thumbing through some volumes set higher than you can reach. His hair is shoulder-length, like Sev's, but blonde and much better groomed. It gleams even in the store's feeble light, and this, together with the boy's sweeping black robes, fascinates you. You stare at the hair for a moment, wondering how it can really be that shiny.

Eventually, the boy notices your fixed regard, and turns around. You see that he's about sixteen, which seems ancient to you—almost a grown-up. You smile up at him hopefully.

"What do you want?" he drawls disdainfully.

You're startled by his tone, but decide that perhaps that's just how he speaks, and he can't help it. You keep smiling. "I was wondering if you could help me," you say, trying to sound as posh and grown-up as possible. "I'm looking for _Transfiguration for Beginners."_

The boy looks bored, but nonchalantly reaches down and grabs a book from one of the lower shelves. "Here," he says, throwing it toward you.

Luckily, your reflexes are good, and you catch it before it hits your jaw. "Thanks," you say politely.

"Say, you must be a first year," the boy says, giving you a more detailed once-over. "What's your surname?"

"Evans, Lily Evans," you say quickly, pleased he seems interested.

"Evans? I don't know any Evans. Are you pureblood?" he asks.

You frown, because that is one thing you don't remember Sev mentioning. "I'm sorry," you say, still polite, "I don't know what you mean."

The boy recoils, looking horrified. "Filthy little Mudblood!" he yells at you.

You flinch, not knowing what the word means but aware it must be an insult. You hug your book to your chest, and sway uncertainly.

"Well get out of here!" shrieks the boy angrily. "I should never have helped you, you're an abomination against our society." And he strides away in disgust, forgetting whichever book he'd wanted to bring with him.

You stand, watching him go and clinging to your book for protection. You still don't know exactly what he said to you—and you plan to ask Sev at the earliest opportunity—but you can't help feeling lost and forlorn as you walk back toward your parents.

The blonde boy has taken away your pleasure in being here, in Diagon Alley, in a store filled with spellbooks, the proud owner of an actual wand…You heave a melancholy sigh, then paste another excited smile on your lips for your parents and Professor McGonagall (you already know Tuney doesn't want smiles).

You're still a witch, but some of the magic is gone.


	2. Narcissa Black

_Narcissa Black_

The second person ever to call you a Mudblood is Narcissa Black. You don't know her name, either, but you are instantly struck by her extraordinary beauty. Her hair is as pale as the boy's in the book shop, but it is her face that makes her beautiful. Her bones are delicate and set as elegantly as a sculpture. Her skin is pale and unblemished, and her eyes are also pale, but large and framed by long lashes.

Unfortunately her beauty seems to be only skin-deep.

You quarreled with Tuney on the platform, and you're still upset. You don't understand why she can't be part of this opportunity, and you're actually a little upset with Professor Dumbledore. At the same time, you're forced to accept that you're the witch of the family. It feels like a big responsibility, and for the first time you wonder if this is really such a good idea. You'll be away from your family, including Tuney who you've just quarreled with, for four whole months. It seems like an eternity.

Then Severus enters the compartment, and you remember that, whatever happens, you're not alone.

The other boys in your compartment are mean, and you're quite angry that first they come into _your _space, without even asking, and then they have the effrontery to insult_ your_ friend.

"Come on, Sev," you say, nose in the air. "Let's find another compartment."

The two of you don't look back at your rowdy classmates, and you don't listen to their insults. Why should you? You've already heard worse.

Sev finds you another compartment that's almost empty—there's only an odd-looking girl in there. You think she might be fourteen or fifteen. Her hair is golden blonde, her necklace is woven from dandelions, and she looks deeply absorbed in a book with a gaudy cover, but no title or author as far as you can see.

"Mind if we sit here?" Sev asks gruffly.

The girl nods absently, not even looking at either of you. Sev picks up your trunk (he's stronger than he looks) and you drift aimlessly a few steps down the corridor.

It's then that the girl bumps into you. She's walking very quickly, heaving a trunk and a birdcage containing a gorgeous tawny owl, and she looks angry.

You try to get out of her way, but you're not fast enough; the collision is inevitable. She utters a string of shocked expletives, ending with "—Merlin's gonads, and Salazar Slytherin's favorite basilisk's nest-name! Watch where you're going!" She looks at you, in one glance takes in your T-shirt and jeans, and adds, almost casually, "you dirty Mudblood!"

You stare at her, feeling shock and anger rise in you like the tide. Of course, after all the swearing, you shouldn't be surprised, but it still amazes you that someone this beautiful could say things so ugly.

She sweeps on past you, tossing that gorgeous hair triumphantly and calling, "Betts! Liv!" to a couple of other fourth-year girls. You can't think of anything to say, even though Sev has reluctantly told you what 'Mudblood' means, and you wish you had his talent for vicious insults.

It's too late, anyway; the girl is gone, and Sev appears at the door of your new compartment. "Lily?" he asks, concerned. You wonder how he can tell you're upset. He always seems to know.

You smile bravely and walk back to Sev. You're determined that these pale-haired older students won't spoil your first day at magic school. No matter how hurt you are that they don't like you for something you can't help.

You're a witch, and you belong here just as much as they do.


	3. All of Slytherin House

_All of Slytherin House_

The third, fourth, fifth, and so on until you've lost count, people who call you a Mudblood are almost all Slytherins. There's a particularly snobbish Ravenclaw and a priggish, awkward Hufflepuff who begs your pardon at once. But by the end of your first year, you're used to hearing it from the Slytherins.

You can never quite bring yourself to say anything too terrible back, but usually you don't need to. The four rowdy boys from the train always do it for you, when they're around, frequently with hexes. It surprises you how gallant they can be, since they also take every opportunity possible to tease and scold you about your relationship with Sev, and Potter and Black have taken to hiding black beetles in your hair during Defense Against the Dark Arts. You've tried reporting them, but detentions seem to be the breath of life to those two.

Sev tries to defend you from his Housemates, but the more he does so the more he suffers. Already the other Slytherins taunt him for his Muggle father.

Your second year, Lucius Malfoy has graduated, something you can only view as a blessing. He always looks at you like you're a bug, and he has far too much influence over Sev. For some reason he made Sev his protégé and saved him from hordes of other blood-conscious, conceited Slytherins, and now your best friend won't hear a word against him.

Also, Narcissa Black's scowls and perpetual bad mood are explained: you discover her sister Andromeda ran off with Muggle-born Ted Tonks, thereby "disgracing the noble name she bore." _Good for her_, you think, because you're young and you still believe that love conquers all.

The summer before your third year you and Tuney don't say a single word to each other. You hate it.

You start new classes, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy with Sev, Care of Magical Creatures by yourself. Divination scares you, and you already know more Muggle Studies than the professor, most likely.

Slughorn calls you a natural in Potions. You sit with Sev in the exact center between the Gryffindors on one side and the Slytherins on the other. At first you feel conspicuous, but eventually you get to be comfortable there.

You love Ancient Runes, but Arithmancy is hard. The only other person in your dorm who seems to understand it is Remus Lupin. He is quiet and studious, in spite of his best friends, and he never calls you a Mudblood or asks you out on a date. You think of him as a very safe study partner.

It's during your fourth year that James Potter first asks you out. He doesn't give up easily, either.

"_Potter and the Mudblood?"_ sneer the Slytherins, but you've trained yourself not to wince.

Severus worries that maybe you do fancy Potter. You are astonished that he could possibly so malign your good taste, and you tell him so. He cheers up considerably.

Still, you have your doubts—not about Potter's appeal or lack thereof, but about Severus's newest friends. Frankly, Avery disgusts you. He's so twitchy—he doesn't even have the courage to be bad without shame, and you're surprised to find that this matters. Perhaps it shouldn't—evil is evil, as you've read somewhere lately—but somehow it does. Mulciber is simply a thug. You know this, and it doesn't take another round of "Evans, the Mudblood," to make you and everyone else with any sense see it.

Mary may be your least favorite roommate—you and Alice are getting quite close, and Marlene is lovably weird—but she doesn't deserve what they did to her. You don't understand why Sev doesn't see that.

Things between the two of you are changing, and you're not sure you like where this is going. He is the one person you trust the most in your life, he's taught you spells you never could have imagined, he's been your guide to a strange world, you can talk to him like you've never been able to talk to anyone, even Tuney, and you, at least, have definitely started feeling a spark.

But there really is something wrong with those Slytherin friends of his. If nothing else, you're pretty sure they actually refer to you as "Snape's little Mudblood," which, to say the least, is rather demeaning.

But, you tell yourself, you're a witch: you'll figure something out.


	4. Severus Snape

_Severus Snape_

The most important person ever to call you a Mudblood is Severus Snape.

It's just after the Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L., and Alice is trying to organize a study break. You and your three roommates, Alice, Marlene and Mary, join a crowd of other fifth-year girls heading toward the lake. It's such a beautiful day, after all, and maybe the water will help keep your mind off exams. You can hardly believe there are still more to get through—you feel like you've been studying forever.

"Transfiguration tomorrow," you remind Alice conscientiously.

She laughs. "Lighten up, Lily, it's hours 'til then." She sits on the grass, takes off her sandals and puts her feet in the water. She breathes deeply, simply enjoying the moment.

Jealous, you pull off your sneakers and socks, and dip your feet in the water, too. It's bliss, feeling the cool water wash over your toes and the sun warm your long hair. You open your Transfiguration textbook on your knees, but you're not really working. For a moment you simply stay where you are, relaxing. Like Alice says, you're not taking an exam right now, and besides, you know your stuff. Professor Slughorn says you're destined for greatness, but on this sunny day by the lake, greatness and war and evil seem far away. You feel an almost Zen-like connection to the world, and for one glorious moment you feel exactly where you stand in your world, and your place in it.

You should have known it was too good to last.

You're brought back roughly from your abstraction by the sounds of an altercation nearby. Your first thought is of your prefect duties—after-exam exuberance, anyone? But when you turn around, of course, it's them. Potter and Black are tormenting Severus again. You roll your eyes in frustration and stand up, not bothering to put your sneakers back on. The other girls jeer at you.

"Come on, Lily!" whines Mary. "Can't you just leave it alone for once? I mean, it's _Potter and Black_, you know?" You do know—you know that Mary, along with most of the other girls in your year, would jump at the chance to go to Hogsmeade with either Potter or Black, you know that you're the only one who sees them for what they really are—immature, insensitive, egotistical bullies who don't even realize they're wrecking lives.

You're close enough to hear Sev swear now; as always, his wide and varied vocabulary impresses you. You think it might even give Narcissa Black (mercifully graduated) a run for her money.

"Wash out your mouth," Potter says coldly. "_Scourgify!"_

Soap bubbles stream out of Sev's mouth, choking him, and for a moment you stand paralyzed with emotion, unseen by any of the combatants.

Then you shake off your lethargy, angry with yourself and furious with Potter, because he could kill Sev and you think no one would make him suffer for it except you. "Leave him ALONE!" you shout, your tone even more venomous than Narcissa Black's habitual one.

Potter strokes his hair and Black raises one eyebrow at you in challenge. "All right, Evans?" Potter asks.

You ignore his feeble attempt at being a civilized human being. "Leave him alone," you repeat with authority. You don't look at Sev, knowing he won't want you to see him like this. "What's he done to you?" you ask, almost hoping Potter will have a reasonable answer.

You should have known better. "Well," says Potter thoughtfully, "it's more the fact that he _exists,_ if you know what I mean…"

You glare at him some more, because it's easy, and try to restrain your temper. After all, Dumbledore might let Potter get away with murder, but you doubt he'd grant you the same clemency, and besides, killing Potter would be _wrong_…

"You think you're funny," you point out. "But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him_ alone_."

"I will if you go out with me, Evans," Potter says eagerly. "Go on…go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."

You roll your eyes. Really, his little crush is starting to annoy you. You suspect that if you did go out with him, he'd quickly decide you weren't as entertaining as chasing you was. "I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid," you tell him firmly. Your refusals have gotten more colorful as time passes, but really, if he weren't such a jerk about it, you wouldn't mind his being in love with you. You accept adoration, after all. That's not what bothers you.

"Bad luck, Prongs," says Black. Why, oh why do they have those stupid nicknames? Black looks back at Sev. "OY!" he yells, too late.

Sev slashes his wand at Potter and cuts into his face. You frown; clearly, this is an inappropriate use of magic, and your duty as prefect—

Potter waves his wand and a second later, Sev is hanging upside down, his robes around his head.

You can see his underwear, and you start to blush. Your lips twitch at the ridiculousness of the situation, and your own reaction. "Let him down!" you say sternly.

Potter does, but then Black traps Sev in a full Body-Bind. You've had enough of this, and you pull out your wand and repeat yourself one more time. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," says Potter.

"Take the curse off him, then!"

Potter does so reluctantly. "There you go," he sighs. "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus—"

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" Sev shouts.

You close your eyes for a moment, swaying. For a second you think you're going to faint, and then you just want to run back to your dorm and have a good cry, but you've always been brave. You open your eyes and look directly into his.

In that moment, you want to hurt him as much as you can, and since you've been best friends for years you figure that is a lot. "Fine," you say coldly. "I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, _Snivellus."_

Severus looks horrified, and you feel a small sense of triumph. He's not the only one who can hurt with words, two can play at that game, and you refuse to be a helpless victim any longer. This is the moment when things will change, you think. This is the moment. You won't let the Slytherins treat you this way, and it's easier to think of Sev in conjunction with them, instead of as your _ex_-best friend.

This is different from the pure rage that fills you around Potter and Black. It goes deeper, and you realize your heart is bruised. You can't bear this. You wish things were different, but this is the end. You can't keep fighting a losing battle. Sev is lost to you, perhaps has been for awhile now. You're not as important to him as Avery and Mulciber, and the knowledge fuels your anger so that for a moment you actually hate Severus Snape.

"Apologize to Evans!" roars Potter. You feel exhausted, and you just want to go back to your room. Potter has no idea how serious this is.

Then your rage returns. It's simpler to take it out on Potter, who you yell at all the time anyway, so you do that. You don't even remember what you say, and a detached part of your mind knows Alice will tease you later ('the lady doth protest too much') but you can't bring yourself to care. Let Alice think you fancy Potter.

You've just seen it could be a whole lot worse. Imagine if you'd told Sev how you felt, like you wanted to…

And Potter isn't that bad. You'll take his adoration, and maybe you'll stop throwing out his gifts next year, because you really need some support.

This decided, you finish yelling at Potter and stomp off. After all, you don't want to overdo it, and you have a tear-date with your bed—you should be alone, everyone else is by the lake…

You're a witch, but right now you feel just like a teenage girl.


	5. Regulus Black

_Regulus Black_

The most pitiful person ever to call you a Mudblood is Regulus Black. You've always felt sorry for him. You don't think Sirius gives him enough credit, and you know what it's like to have an older sibling hate you for something you don't have a lot of control over.

It's a couple of weeks after graduation, and you and James are getting a drink at the Three Broomsticks for old times' sake. This is where the two of you went for your first date in seventh year, after you decided to give him a proper chance. You figured, why not? His devotion impresses you with its longevity, and he is quite handsome.

Ever since that first date, things have gone well. You've discovered there's more to him than jinxing Slytherins, and he makes an excellent sparring partner. Also, kissing James is surprisingly fun. He can make you forget your fears and uncertainty. He says he loves you. You're not ready to go that far yet, but you do like him. His good spirits are undefeatable and contagious—when you're with him, you think maybe you and the Order of the Pheonix can win the war, maybe Dumbledore can make this work. Maybe the future isn't so bleak after all.

He orders two Butterbeers, and finds you a table. He sits down and pulls you onto his lap. You giggle and dig your nails into the skin of his arm in retaliation, twisting so you're half facing him.

"Lily, my sweet torment," he groans, pulling you closer and laughing too. Your noses touch, and you smile shyly.

Someone clears his throat behind you. It manages to sound apologetic, disgusted, and jealous, all at once.

Both you and James turn to face the newcomer, James tightening his grip on your arm and your waist.

"We need to talk," says Regulus Black.

There is silence.

Rosmerta clinks two Butterbeers to get your attention, and gratefully, you swing yourself out of James's arms and toward the bar. You don't look back.

You get the Butterbeers, and sip yours before going back to the table. You have a bad feeling about this.

You slip into the chair next to James, noting that Regulus is now sitting across from him, expression grave. "I'm telling you, James, this is the opportunity of a lifetime," he is saying. "My friends and I have already seen things you couldn't possibly imagine. These are changing times, and you can be a part of that. Both of you," he adds, looking at you, and you raise your eyebrows.

"Let's be clear," says James. "You're asking us to...what, exactly?"

"Join him," says Regulus, looking earnest and much too innocent for what he's suggesting. He lowers his voice, glancing around the bar. You look, too, and you can see a handful of his friends—people you know from school, most of them. Barty Crouch Jr., Rob Wilkes, Thorfinn Something…"Join the Dark Lord," Regulus whispers.

You stare at him in numb shock. Your first thought is that he must be crazy, or maybe he only meant the invitation for James, although if the two of you are really going to get married (he proposed the day after graduation), then that could get very awkward…

"What?" James asks, also surprised.

"You can do stuff," says Regulus, voice low and fast. "There's a lot to learn, spells I never would've—"

"How?" James interrupts, loudly. "You're not even out of school."

Regulus frowns. "That's irrelevant. To serve the Dark Lord—"

You hold up one hand, tired of this. You think you know why Regulus is asking. He knows, everyone knows, that where James goes Sirius follows. But he can't really mean to include you, can he? "Why?" you ask sharply. "Why us?" You want to know if Regulus is acting on his own here, or—

"The Dark Lord believes you can be useful. It is an honor to serve him, and the rewards are great," Regulus says. He goes on, but you aren't listening. Opportunity of a lifetime…yeah, right. Still, for one brief, crazy moment you find yourself tempted. It would make things so much easier—you wouldn't be hunted for your birth anymore, you could keep your family safe, you could see Sev again…

"No," says James quietly.

"I beg your pardon?" asks Regulus, oddly formal.

"No. You can tell Voldemort we said no," James says firmly, covering your hand on the table with his.

You don't say anything. You feel as though you can't move for a moment, and then sanity comes rushing back. If you joined Voldemort, there would be no guarantee you wouldn't be hunted for your blood, and you would certainly be justifiably wanted by the Ministry for your actions. It certainly wouldn't make your family safer—where would Voldemort's motivation to spare them be? He'd probably enjoy torturing them in front of you. They are in danger no matter what you do, and you already know your best hope in that regard is blood magic. If your world comes knocking on their doorstep, you'll do whatever it takes to see it doesn't make it over the threshold.

Regulus's face is white. "Fine," he says quietly, voice cold and remote. "But if you and your Mudblood girlfriend don't stay out of this, Potter—well, don't say I didn't warn you."

It's odd how threatening a boy two years younger than you are can be.

James gets to his feet angrily. "If you dare insult my girlfriend—" he says dangerously, reaching for his wand.

You sit in silence, unmoving. You just don't feel up for this right now. Regulus is a nice boy with evil brainwashing parents, and he has at least four friends with him whereas you and James are on your own…if it comes to a fight, it won't end well, and if James hurts Regulus Sirius will suffer, and if Regulus and his Death Eater friends kill you and James, Sirius will go completely insane and homicidal…In short, the odds are not in your favor.

"Hey," Regulus says softly, "don't start anything, Potter. You're not the only one with friends in high places." With that, he heads back to his group of Slytherins.

James sits down again and stares moodily into his Butterbeer. "Let's get out of here," he says at length.

You're careful to scrutinize the shadows as you leave. In some ways, that conversation makes more sense as the prelude to an ambush, but the shadows don't move and curses don't rend the night. You're not sure whether to be glad or sorry.

It's only a few days later you and James are officially inducted into the Order of the Phoenix. There's firewhiskey, and laughter, but the whole thing seems surreal to you. Sirius laughs the loudest of all, and you wonder if he knows his little brother's a Death Eater.

You watch James toast you, Dumbledore smiling benignly, and you think that this is no victory. It's the beginning of something that may demand your very lives, and which will certainly change them.

You're a witch, but you're not sure you're ready for this.


	6. Arabella Figg

_Arabella Figg_

The nicest person ever to call you a Mudblood is Arabella Figg. She's a sweet little old lady in her sixties, and she happens to be a Squib.

It's the day after you've told your parents about your engagement. It turns out Petunia is getting married, too (you don't like Vernon, whatever your sister says about his manifold virtues) and your parents want to have a party for the four of you. "To the happy couples!" laughs your father. Petunia scowls.

In the morning you help your mother make plans for the party. In the afternoon the neighbors come and visit, exclaiming over you and your sister (mostly you; perhaps because they haven't seen you often over the past seven years) and ask about the lucky men. That evening James comes by and the two of you sneak off for a walk and a snog.

Things are progressing nicely when you hear a scream a few blocks away. As one, you and James draw your wands and race in the direction of the sound. It's times like these, you reflect, when you're most thankful James is your boyfriend. He acts quickly, he fights well, and he understands that evil must be fought, wrongs must be righted, and the innocent must be protected.

It's easy to see where the trouble is once you reach the appropriate street. Wisteria Walk is filled with neat, square houses, and there is one that shines with ominous green light.

As you and James race forward, you see three black-robed, masked figures, a body on the ground, and a weeping woman brandishing an iron cooking pot.

James sends two Stunning Spells in rapid succession, but you're nearly out of range and they both miss. In the instant the masked figures turn and look around for the source of the threat, the weeping woman swings the pot with all her strength and hits one of her assailants in the back of the head. He crumples to the ground.

You start dueling one of the remaining masked men, and James takes the other. The duel is hard and fast, and you know you're fighting for your life, and that of the woman. This worries you, and you don't feel brave or glamorous. But you're sure about one thing—you had better win.

The Death Eater (for so you deduce he must be) isn't as fast as you, but his spells have the strength and clarity of sheer, brute force power. You dance out of range, but not before one spell hits your left shoulder with the force of a large boulder. You stagger from the impact, set your lips tightly, and start a complicated net of spells, like cat's cradle, that Sev taught you once. The Death Eater avoids most of the net, but the final Jelly-Legs Jinx breaks through his defenses, and his concentration is broken for a moment. You cast a swift, silent Stunning Spell.

You smirk in triumph as your opponent falls unconscious to the ground, and look around in time to see James's Death Eater grab the feebly stirring body of the one who the woman hit over the head and Disapparate. James swears briefly but fiercely before turning to you.

"The Ministry should know about this," he says, but then, too late, a couple of hit wizards appear a few feet away. "Or, Dumbledore," James says wryly, and Disapparates.

The hit wizards cluster around the Death Eater you Stunned and the body on the grass—you see now it's that of a man, maybe in his fifties or sixties, hair grey and clothes neat and clean. He has glasses, which makes you think of Remus for some reason, and you shiver. The man is dead. Not a scratch on him of course, but there wouldn't be. You can tell all the same.

"He was my husband," says the woman. She no longer weeps, but stares around hopelessly. She's still holding the iron pot, and she stands behind you watching the hit wizards. They're very organized, naturally.

"I'm sorry," you say around a constriction in your throat.

"I'd be dead, too, if you and your boyfriend hadn't come," adds the woman matter-of-factly.

You don't trust yourself to speak, so you just nod.

"How did you end up here?" she asks.

You think maybe she needs to talk about something else. "My parents live nearby," you say. "James and I were taking a walk—we heard—"

"So you're a Mudblood, then?" she asks curiously.

Shocked, you turn toward her, staring. You thought she was all right—she doesn't seem surprised by what's happening, and the way she hit that one Death Eater over the head with a cooking pot was truly inspired—and now this—

"Did I say something wrong?" she asks when you don't answer. She seems to find insulting you a welcome relief from the situation. You are angry with James for leaving you to cope with this on your own.

"My parents are Muggles," you say stiffly, unwilling to call _yourself_ a Mudblood and unable to resist her naïve charm.

"Oh. Mine were wizards," she says, "and I'm a Squib. Arabella Figg."

"Lily Evans," you reciprocate, bemused.

"Nice to meet you," she says, and you think how surreal this is. "So you're not a Mudblood?"

That you can't answer. When you were a first year, you would have said, "No, I'm not," at once, very hotly. But now, things have changed. You're a warrior, and you're not the only one from a Muggle family. Doubt assails you. In all technical senses, you _are _a Mudblood, but you can't bring yourself to give in to an evil stereotype designed to undermine your personal sense of identity.

"I'm Muggle-born," you explain.

"So that's what they call it these days," Mrs. Figg says with an air of pleased discovery.

"Yes," you say.

"Excuse me: ma'am?" says one of the hit wizards. "If you would come with us?"

Mrs. Figg's expression shuts down at once. "Of course," she says woodenly, and you wonder if she let herself forget that tragedy while the two of you talked.

You reach out impulsively and touch her sleeve. "Good luck, Mrs. Figg," you say, "and I'm so sorry for your loss."

She blinks and nods, and then one of the other hit wizards pulls you aside for your testimony. As you explain what happened, you can't stop thinking about Mrs. Figg. She's so brave, facing those Death Eaters with no magic and only a cooking pot for protection. She's a Squib, and she's braver than you are—you doubt you could do much against the Death Eaters without your magic, much less knock one unconscious.

You're a witch, but you're not _that_ courageous.


	7. VoldemortTom RiddleYouKnowWho

_Tom Riddle/Voldemort/You-Know-Who/He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named/Lord-Thingy/The Dark Lord_

The last person ever to call you a Mudblood is Tom Riddle. Ever since you got Dumbledore to tell you his real name, you've thought of him as Tom Riddle. 'Voldemort' sounds so pretentious, 'You-Know-Who' implies you're afraid of him, and 'the Dark Lord' reminds you too much of Sev.

You wish you could say Tom Riddle is the last person to call you a Mudblood because after that the Wizarding world suddenly comes to its senses and abandons negative, pejorative stereotypes.

It's a day like any other, that Halloween. You spend the morning going over household bills (James hates doing it, maybe because his parents gave him everything he ever wanted), and the afternoon shopping for groceries. Riddle doesn't jump out from behind the breakfast cereals, and James stays with Harry—the two of you never let him out of your sight, ever since you heard the prophecy.

You get home, you make dinner, the three of you eat dinner, you wash the dishes, James takes Harry into the living room and conjures bits of hazy colored smoke for him, you come in to tell them it's Harry's bedtime, and James hands him to you, and you take him upstairs, tuck him into his crib, kiss him goodnight, walk back to the head of the stairs…

The door bursts open, you hear the sound reverberating through the house—and you stiffen, because this can mean only one thing—

"Lily, take Harry and go!" James yells, racing into the hall. You can see him from where you stand at the top of the stairs, but you don't move, you can't, you're paralyzed with fear and a slow, helpless anger—"It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" James shouts, and you can move again—

You race back toward Harry, faster than if you'd Apparated there, your one thought to save your infant son—too late, you remember that your wand is downstairs, in the kitchen—

You feel rather than see or hear the Killing Curse Riddle casts at James, and you close your eyes in pain, and then you look down at your son, peaceful and calm and on the verge of sleep, you snatch him into your arms and he wakes, laughs, and reaches for your long red hair, and you can't help but scream—

Once you start, you can't stop, even though a detached part of your brain, the most Slytherin part, is telling you not to be an idiot, and to hide Harry somehow, there must be something you can do—aren't any of the neighbors just walking past, you could throw Harry down to them like you would in case of a fire (if you didn't have your wand) or maybe you could grab Harry and jump out of the window—but without your wand, you have no guarantee either of you would survive the fall, and what if you broke your leg, then you'd be just as trapped—

Various scenarios dash through your mind, and you don't even have time to wish you'd gone with your gut feeling and vetoed Peter as Secret-Keeper, or that you'd vamped Sev into telling you everything he knows about Riddle and his plans, because surely, if you'd pooled your information—that is, if he'd told you Peter was the spy, which he must have known, unless it's really secret, just between Peter and Riddle—and how could Peter do this to James, anyway?

Before you can finish figuring it all out, because there must be a logical pattern somewhere, even if you can't see it, Riddle's suddenly there, and it's too late, just like you knew it would be as soon as James said he'd hold him off, because holding off the Dark Lord is harder than either of you could ever imagine—

—and you should have known the chair and toy box and clothes hamper you shoved in front of the door while you thought about how to escape wouldn't be enough.

Riddle looks at you with those merciless red eyes and you put Harry down again in his crib and try to block him with your body, because it's the only thing you have left—

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" You beg him, tears streaming down your face. You make all sorts of promises to yourself—if Harry is spared, you'll get out of the Order of the Phoenix, never do chores for Dumbledore again—

"Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now," he says, almost laughing at you, and you spare a thought from the detached part of your mind for wondering why on earth he wouldn't kill you.

You're crying now in earnest; you beg him, offering your own life without a second thought—there must be a spark of humanity in him somewhere, after all— "Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—"

"This is my last warning—" he says, and you could laugh, because why is he warning you, what does he think you care for life if you lose your son?

"Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy…" you beg. You would get down on your knees to him if you thought it would do any good. "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything—" In that moment, you mean it, you don't care, your principles aren't important—honestly, if he spares Harry you'll be his slave, you truly will—

And, perhaps because you feel this so strongly it shines out of your eyes, when you look into his red ones again, you can suddenly sense what he's thinking. _Anything?_ He thinks, and you pray that this will work, that he'll agree—he doesn't realize how powerful an assistant you could be—you've studied blood magic extensively, you're nearly tied with Sev for the best Potioneer since Dagworth-Granger, and you have a way of persuading people to do what you want—Sirius said once that you were the only person he knew who could do a successful interrogation without torture, or Veritaserum, or any magical aid—

_Silly girl_, he thinks, and your heart sinks. _Silly little Mudblood girl, thinking I wouldn't nullify the prophecy—one baby, and it'll be done, no one will withstand me again, and the world will be all mine—_

You shiver, because what you've sensed in his mind scares you—not just for your baby's sake, but also for the world's. He's so alone in his thoughts, and he shrinks from yours, filled as they are with emotion. And you know, with so much certainty that it shocks you, that power won't be enough—Riddle wants love, even if he won't admit it to himself.

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" he says now. You doubt he's even aware of your foray into his mind. How anyone can be so blind—

You set your jaw, and don't move. You want to watch Harry grow up, you want to be a part of his life, and most of all you want to give him a future—he deserves so much more than this—if Riddle kills him before he's even had a chance to fight back—but, you think with determination, if this is the end, you'll make sure the last thing your son sees is you protecting him. You wait, calm at last, for the curse, knowing it will come soon, and then—

This is one thing Riddle will never understand—you're a witch, but, first and last and always, you're a mother.


End file.
